


Canst Not Then Be False

by Medie



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hurts to admit it, but she says it anyway. "They had each other."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canst Not Then Be False

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://triciabyrne1978.livejournal.com/profile)[**triciabyrne1978**](http://triciabyrne1978.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_femslash/profile)[**sg_femslash**](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_femslash/) with the offworld adventures theme. Prompt: : "Power never takes a back step - only in the face of

They do not meet by chance. Little which happens to Elizabeth now involves chance. The abilities fueled by the power of her transformed body and mind lessen the random subtleties of chance.

It's strange. She misses it. It's so hard to be surprised now. In some ways, it's easier. With the vagaries of chance removed from the equation, Elizabeth is free. Free to make the decisions she wishes and free to achieve her goals without opposition.

This goal takes her across the universe. It takes her closer to home, except Earth hasn't been home in four years. The picture of home painted by her mind's eye is one of towers, spires, and a stone circle at its heart.

She doesn't think about what she's lost. She thinks about now, standing in her ship's brig, staring at her prize. It's difficult to avoid thinking of her like that and, for a moment, Elizabeth feels a flash of guilt. This isn't something she feels. Something she does. She lets her breath catch, annoyed that it must be a conscious act, and looks away.

When she's ready, she looks back, meeting her guest's cool gaze.

"The resemblance is uncanny." Elizabeth doesn't engage her directly. Just circles the replicator, her eyes following the smooth line of jaw, down the neck, over the shoulder to follow the curve of her spine. "You look exactly like her."

Samantha Carter lifts her chin, looking down her nose. "That's because I _am_ her."

With a tight smile, Elizabeth sits down. The chair beneath her is lush and comfortable. The furnishings are a deliberate choice. Despite her actions, she does not mean to keep Carter here as a prisoner.

Not forever at least.

"No, you're not." Elizabeth holds out a hand, indicating the empty chair before her.

Carter frowns, but sits. "I am as much Samantha Carter as you are Elizabeth Weir."

That remark stings. There have been moments, brief instants in time where she wonders if that is the case. If she is, in fact, only a copy of Elizabeth Weir. A copy made from the mind of a woman murdered on Asuras.

She rejects the thought, pushing it from her mind. "I _am_ Elizabeth Weir. The circumstances of my transformation aside, I am still the woman I always was."

Pushing a smile to her face, Elizabeth leans forward in her chair. "I can't say the same for you." Before Carter can argue, she continues. "I didn't come across three galaxies for a debate on self-identification."

Elizabeth stands. "If this were a debate, it would already be over."

Carter doesn't move, but Elizabeth can read the curiosity in her face. It is one trait that this copy shares with the original. She answers the unspoken question with a simple answer. "I wouldn't have resurrected you in the first place."

*

She leaves Carter to herself after that and retreats to the bridge. Amara is there, tablet in hand, filling in for her. She greets the young woman with a smile and a nod and tries to distract herself with work.

It doesn't last.

"She can't go anywhere," says Amara.

Elizabeth folds her arms, watching Carter pace on the small monitor's screen. "I know. I just wanted to check in on her."

"She hasn't tried to escape, but we're prepared if she does."

"Good," says Elizabeth.

"You think that she won't?"

"I _hope_ that she won't." Ellizabeth wants to believe things will change. She wants to believe Carter can rise above the replicator programming. She wants to believe it, but she's not fooling herself. She knows just how hard it will be, just as she knows how easy it would be to fix it. The Replicators of her home galaxy are no match for their Pegasus counterparts. The Asuran form, like most things of Ancient design, is superior to most others. Carter wouldn't stand a chance if Elizabeth chose to change her mind for her.

"You could change her mind," says Amara, unaware her words echo Elizabeth's own thoughts. It's condemning to hear them from someone else's lips, the shame chasing away the temptation.

Amara is new. Young. First among a new generation of Asurans created by the few remaining under Elizabeth's leadership. She's wide-eyed and innocent and Elizabeth smiles at the simplistic comment.

"No," she says, "I can't." Turning from the screen, Elizabeth meets the young woman's gaze. "It would be wrong to change Samantha's programming. She needs to choose for herself."

"But -- " Amara frowns. "Her design is inferior. You stated that her designer replicated her with hostile intent, thus her programming is flawed. Correcting that would be a kindness, would it not?"

Elizabeth shakes her head. "It would not. She needs to make the decision on her own."

Looking back at the screen, she watches Carter pace the cell.

"And whatever it is, I will have to respect it."

Amara frowns. "If she chooses to follow her predecessors?"

"My respect has it's limits."

*

Elizabeth gives her a day to stew before returning to Carter's cell. The door slides open. Standing beside the chairs they'd sat in a day before, Carter looks impatient.

"I thought," says Elizabeth, stepping inside the door, "that you might like to see the ship."

Carter's impatience bleeds into obvious suspicion. "That's ill-advised. You don't know what I might do."

"That's true," says Elizabeth with a nod. She steps back, gesturing at the door. She knows her smile is menacing as she adds, "The same can be said for you."

Carter hesitates. It's a hollow victory, and Elizabeth's smile fades as she follows her through the door.

*

"This is a mistake," says Carter as they walk the ship. "You shouldn't be showing me this." Despite her protests, her gaze takes in their surroundings with a familiar excitement. Elizabeth only worked briefly with Samantha Carter, but she's seen it before.

The pride of knowing that it's her ship causing it is bittersweet. She once felt the same showing off a city.

"I'll be the one deciding that," says Elizabeth, her voice soft, but firm. "The ship is Aurora-class. It was designed by the Ancients." She will not think of the first Aurora. She will not allow herself to fall into the maudlin thoughts of what she's lost. She chooses to focus on what she has gained; on what she might yet achieve. It's not much, but it will have to be enough. She clears her throat. "We have, of course, made improvements."

"Of course." Carter's echoed comment is laced with amusement, but Elizabeth can see her envy. "It's been ten thousand years." She turns. "Why did you -- "

"Come back for you?" Caught off guard by the shift of topic, Elizabeth hesitates. She looks at the others. Some walk by quickly, their steps filled with purpose, but some slow, their eyes watching Carter. None of them look at her with trust or acceptance.

She looks back at Carter. "Why did you go home? You knew they'd kill you." They _did_ kill her.

Carter smiles, a touch bitter. "They had something I wanted."

Elizabeth nods, leading her into another corridor and away from prying eyes. She cares about the people under her leadership. The Asurans are young, naive, and so very hopeful. They deserve better than the truth of her feelings. They deserve better than a leader who feels like a stranger.

It hurts to admit it, but she says it anyway. "They had each other."

*

Elizabeth's personal quarters are not what Sam expected. Friendly and relaxed. She is uncertain of just what she had expected. Her memories of their encounters at Stargate Command are friendly, but distant on both sides. Each had been preoccupied with her own issues. Colonel Carter had been searching for ways to save Jack, Elizabeth -- well, Elizabeth had her own agenda.

Then and now. At least that is one thing that has not changed.

Ever the cordial host and diplomat, Elizabeth gestures to a chair. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I don't need to eat," says Sam,sitting. She feels a twinge of regret. She misses jello. "Neither do you."

"No, I don't," says Elizabeth. "However, I do try to make the effort." She smiles. "I like the taste." She sits down as well. "It's not _real_ coffee, of course."

"One of the benefits of our design," agrees Sam. A simple instruction and anything tastes like anything. "Irrelevant though it is."

Elizabeth's eyes flicker with something. Disappointment? Sam can't tell. Even with her processing speed, it's gone before she can read it. "Doesn't it bother you?"

Sam frowns. "Doesn't what bother me?"

Elizabeth looks sympathetic. "That your programming dictates your responses."

Sam nearly snaps at her, though she isn't sure what she would have said. The door opens, an Asuran's entrance preempting her words. The young woman flicks a glance at Sam, wary, before setting a tray of coffee on the low table between them.

When she looks at Elizabeth, the wariness becomes awe. Sam watches the way the women interact before Elizabeth sends the girl on her way.

"They worship you," says Sam as the door slides shut.

Elizabeth shifts, uncomfortable. "In a way." She pours a cup of coffee, pushing it toward Sam. "I'm unique. They're fascinated by me."

Sam takes the coffee. "Because you were not designed."

With a nod, Elizabeth pours a cup for herself. She takes a sip, slow and savoring. A blissful expression steals across her face. "Yes," she says and then takes another sip. "It's why you haven't tried to escape yet I fascinate you too."

Sam doesn't answer the comment. She tries the coffee unaltered, letting her taste buds process it, and makes a face. "This is terrible."

Elizabeth laughs. "Of course it is. Amara can't make coffee to save her life." With mischief in her eyes, she explains, "I like to remember, sometimes. Not everything has to be the way I want it. Programming makes it easier. Power makes it easier. It also makes you complacent." Her gaze darkens. "I don't have the luxury of complacency."

Sam considers that and nods, acutely aware Elizabeth does not only mean the Wraith. She suspects it would be wise never to find out the consequences of arousing Elizabeth Weir's ire.

She drinks her coffee, again making a face. It really is disgusting.

Across from her, Elizabeth sits back and smiles. "You should try her tea."

*

Elizabeth grants her more freedom, but Sam is under no illusion that she is truly free. The Asuran crew monitors her every move, and her access to their systems is limited. She suspects if she attempted an escape, or an assault, she wouldn't make it a step.

It's just as well. She's not sure where she would go. _If_ she would go.

Sam sighs. It's measured. With a thought any number of monitoring systems can tell her air pressure, length, and temperature of the breath passing over lips. She can examine its composite gases. She cannot simply _breathe_.

Nothing is unconscious. Every function of her body is monitored, all the readings there for Sam's examination.

"A computer," says Sam, cold and matter-of-fact.

A passing Asuran stops, looking at her with wary eyes. "Colonel Carter?"

They all call her that. _Colonel Carter_. Sam doesn't know if it's Elizabeth's doing or their own. She probably should appreciate the gesture. Instead, she feels hollow. "Nothing."

She leaves him standing in the hallway, staring after her.

*

She's no different than the rest of them. Fifth designed her. She hates him for it.

*

Elizabeth is waiting. Sitting in her personal quarters, a book in her hand and a cup of coffee beside her. A glance at the spine tells Sam the book is alien. She doesn't try the coffee. She knows that's Amara's. "Expanding my horizons," says Elizabeth, holding up the book.

Sam takes it, running her fingers over the material. A myriad of data comes flying back from her sensors. She ignores it.

"So am I."

*

Later, much later, they lie together. Sam slides one leg along Elizabeth's. "Why did you come for me?"

Rolling toward her, Elizabeth puts a hand on Sam's hip and smiles. "Because you would understand."

"I'm not _her_," says Sam, "and I'm not like you."

Elizabeth's thumb strokes her skin. "That's the point," she smiles, "you aren't supposed to be."


End file.
